


Ain't No Dam Like An Amster-dam

by whaleofatime



Category: Free!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amsterdam, Casino AU, M/M, That artwork from a thousand years ago where they're poker players magicians and pool players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaleofatime/pseuds/whaleofatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a casino, the throw of metaphorical dice takes them from England to Amsterdam, and Rin’s bet pays off thanks to the intervention of swans and space brownies. </p>
<p>An international (sortof) Casino AU written for fanworksforgayswimmers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Dam Like An Amster-dam

It started with the strange too-fast too-furious seduction fronted by the sharp-toothed red-haired man who looks after the craps table. Makoto was only supposed to stay at the casino hotel for a week, for the pool tournament, but he’d injured his wrist catching the nice mister Lyle who’d leapt from his balcony (long story) and instead of taking part and winning some income, Makoto had just bumbled good-naturedly around the casino grounds for the duration of the tournament.

Gambling isn’t terribly attractive to Makoto. It reeks of danger and terrible odds, and same as with horror movies, the thrill people get from such things just gives him heart palpitations instead. But one fateful night he’d gone down to the casino earlier than usual, grabbing a drink and starting his usual stroll before the floor got flooded by patrons. He’d walked by an unoccupied craps table before the dealer had called out to him, asking if he wanted to see if Luck would be his lady tonight. (Sorry, Lady. Really, he’d be much more inclined if it was Luck Lad instead.) The sharp teeth, dangerous smile, the dealer’s striking red hair tied up in a short ponytail, looking crisp as a fresh pack of cards in the black and white ensemble of the casino uniform, eh. 

Makoto was enthralled.

He should’ve known better than to play with strangers, really. The losing-a-significant-sum-of-money thing would’ve been a loss Makoto would have easily covered. He'd only used money that was already on his person, and had refused to withdraw anymore to exchange for chips even when it had seemed the most deceptively profitable. It’s a bruise to the ego, but even that he can cheerfully take on the chin (there can’t be enough luck for everyone, so tonight’s just not his night, it’s nice that someone else is having a good time). Somehow getting a little too drunk off of his usual menu of 2 ciders and ending up with the man from the craps table in his bed, that’s… a little trickier. Having breakfast together at a nearby diner, exchanging names a long while after exchanging hickeys and fluids, that’s worse. The absolute _clincher_ , though, was how Rin somehow managed to convince Makoto that instead of packing up and going home now that his hotel stay’s run out, he should totally go on a road trip with him. 

To Amsterdam. 

Because? Makoto’s not too sure himself. It could have something to do with Rin’s winning sharp-toothed smile and his amusement at meeting a fellow Japanese man with a girly name here in the south of Britain. Right now they’re driving for the coast, Makoto blinking rapidly to make sure his contacts don’t get so dry that they pop out of his eyes as he hunts for signs for the port by the white cliffs of Dover, Rin sitting folded up compactly on the passenger’s side, and the only relief Makoto can find from this shocker of a situation is that at least they’re both completely clueless (weirdness loves company).

Rin had wanted to pay half for the cost of the car to cross the English Channel via ferry, but Makoto had politely declined. Whatever it was that drove him to agree to this sudden trip with this mostly-stranger, he’s still the one who’d said yes, it’s still his car, and Rin’s done plenty to help out. (The beaten-up Audi used to have cup holders, but damaged to that among numerous other minor flaws were what had put the genuinely quite lovely car within Makoto’s price range, so he’d gotten used to driving with a cup of tea wedged between his thighs. Rin had become an unwitting witness to the scene, scoffing and then laughing before shamelessly commandeering the cup of tea and becoming one with the car, taking one for the team and being the most obliging cup holder Makoto’s ever had the pleasure to work with. He’d been just a little bit won over.)

They wait in the car, engine cut, for the lights on the ceiling to turn from red to green to signal that the ferry’s departed now, and that it’s safe for drivers and passengers to come out and go wander around on the ship’s entertainment and retail decks. Rin wordlessly hands over Makoto’s cup of tea, settling both hands around his own cuppa, and they drain their drinks until the shuddering groans of the metal walls around them ease a little and the green light flashes to say g’day.

“C'mon, Mako. Can’t invade France if we don’t even flash our crazy sexy faces to say hello, right?” The sharpest smile this side of the sea. “Plus, I got no Euros, so we need to fix that.” Rin unbuckles his safety belt and is out like a popping weasel, Makoto laughing and more sedately unfolding himself out of his car.

They do, fix it. They also have scones while standing outside on the observation deck, Makoto politely keeping his back to the wind so that Rin’s little plastic packet of butter won’t get blown off into the Channel. Rin takes pictures with his phone, of the boat and the sea and Makoto when he’s bent over a row of cute trinkets in the gift shop, trying to figure out if his kid brother and sister would prefer the bobble-headed British policeman or the cup that sings in French if you fill it up with hot water. Rin bought both for him, and Makoto bought Rin a waterproof hat that reminded him very, very much of Paddington Bear because the weather forecast told ‘em it’s going to be pissing with rain, snow or sleet over most of Western Europe today. Not to be outdone, Rin retaliated with 3 boxes of tea in cans painted to look like telephone boxes, Makoto humbly offered up a flaky croissant sandwich, and by the time the voice over the loudspeakers told the drivers to go and get back into their vehicles, their arms are laden with ridiculous souvenirs, their wallets are significantly slimmer, and they’re almost laughing themselves sick when they slide into their seats.

Rin doesn’t take off the hat, just flips the brim back to flash his sharp face at the apathetic immigration officer, and Makoto’s given up on questioning his sanity because once they’ve gone past the checkpoint, Rin is suggesting a stop at McDonald’s so that they may, together, figure out how to say coffee in French and try out the new singing mug of theirs. (“Seriously, Makoto. How the hell could 2 cool dudes like us not even think that it might’ve been cafe? If you ever say coffee with your teeeeeerrible made-up accent again, I swear I’m gonna laugh so hard I throw up.”)

Calais isn’t pretty, but it’s an industrial port city, so not even Frenchy magic could make up for it. Makoto doesn’t mind, because driving is an activity he takes terribly seriously, most of the time hunching his broad shoulders ‘cos it feels like if he makes himself small he can see out the windshield better. His grip on the steering wheel is always just a little too tight, and the amount of concentration he pours into the lanes and the cars that are anywhere within his vicinity, well. 

It all amounted to a very safety-conscious but terrible long-distance driver. His eyes don’t wander long enough to stop and smell the roses, sort of thing. 

They’ve been on the road and under grey skies for a few hours now, seeing signs for Belgium and the occasional quiet mention of the Netherlands, before Rin decrees it’s time for a time-out. “You look like you’re going to burst into tears any second now, Mako. C'mon, c'mon.” 

Rin’s trying to be persuasive, probably, but wheedling isn’t his gift.

Zealousness, however, is.

“C'mon, there’s going to be a chocolate factory coming up. We take a break, then I get behind the wheel. Look, I even have a driver’s license!” If confidence could conjure proof of driving aptitude, then Rin would have licenses pouring out his ears.

Obviously, Makoto can’t tear his eyes off the road, which is probably what makes him listen to Rin and obligingly drive down a side road to go to the little nondescript chocolate factory. He likes Rin, Makoto knows it for sure by now. It was hard not to, with the intense eyes and easy smiles and burning passion (now contained under a floppy red hat), and he really would rather not burst into tears just yet (driving’s driven him to it more than once, yes.)

They pull up in the mostly-empty car park, curiously walk around to the back to see if they could peek into the chocolate manufacturing area, before finally strolling in and trying to look like they aren’t getting dazed by lights glinting off foil wraps in 14 different colours.

They wander around the little store for a good half hour, time Rin mostly spent egging Makoto on to dastardly deeds until a metaphorical omelette got born.

Deed done, Makoto flees, pretty much, and slumps against the car, face bright red, breathing hard, looking at Rin like a wounded bird while his lips keep jerking into a smile he thinks is unseemly to show. “You’re a terrible influence on me, Rin.”

Rin just puffs out his chest, taking a step closer. His pockets jingle, and Makoto gives up on his fight to be the stern parental figure so he can just smile to his heart’s content. “'course I am, Mako-chan. Should’ve figured it out the moment I called you out.” Rin feigns ignorance to the cause of Makoto’s amusement, before sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a handful of chocolates wrapped in brightly-coloured wrapping. He tosses 1 to Makoto, who catches it easily, before opening it for himself and popping it into his mouth. “'sides, they said it’s free for tastin’. They didn’t say I couldn’t take a little extra so I can keep on tasting 'em till we reach Amsterdam, did they?”

“I suppose you’re right, Rin.” And the thrill of also having sample chocolates stuffed down his pockets (he calls it stuffed, but Rin calls him a scaredy-cat, because dear sweet Makoto had taken maybe 2 chocolates from the giant bowl before panicking and beating a hasty retreat) has his face pink from a pleasant flush that Rin happily intensifies with a messy chocolatey kiss. 

At first touch, Makoto thinks semi-hysterically that this kind of contact came out of nowhere!! Totally unsolicited!! But he knows what helpless affection feels like, he’s been swimming in it for hours and hours and hours now, and if they could have hot easy sex yesterday night, they’ve certainly come a long way enough (geographically, temporally, emotionally) that a fond peck shouldn’t be a problem.

Doesn’t stop his face from glowing redder ‘n a Christmas ornament, though.

Rin makes a show of licking his lips clean, and then his fingers, and pats Makoto fondly on the shoulder when Makoto makes an unintentionally lusty sound. “Hold it in there, we still haven’t seen even 1 canal just yet. Start the car, I’m going to get us some drinks.” Rin winks, managing to somehow make it look like winking is an actual legitimate cool thing to do instead of the embarrassing spectacles that Makoto feels his are.

But getting drinks does mean that they would give the little factory some business after all! Makoto’s contentment can’t be suppressed no matter how hard his cheek muscles try. Rin’s merry dance leading him down the path of the almost-criminal is quite possibly the most fun Makoto’s had in his entire adult life, and he starts the car up with a grin, back relaxed and eyes bright, waiting for company to come back.

Things, however, started going a little haywire when it got dark, dragging the winter chill with it. The actual distance to get from their hotel in England to Amsterdam probably wasn’t that far, western European countries being clumped up together the way they are, but between numerous stops for snacks and gas and getting lost both geographically and in translation, it’s dark by the time they cross over into the Netherlands. Rin had taken over captaincy of the car, after seeing Makoto’s apparent discomfort at the prospect of driving in the dark somewhere he’s never been to.

“It’s not like I got experience driving 'round here or anything,” Rin had casually mentioned, foot on the gas pedal as they zip along. “Just, y'know. I’m a great guy. Why wouldn’t I be great at night-driving in Holland too, right?” Flawed logic can become sound if you’ve got enough gusto backing you up.

Makoto’s not sure he’s completely behind Rin’s ideological argument, but he’s strapped in and feeling weirded out (he hasn’t had an occasion to be the passenger in his own car before). The view’s the same but completely different from this side. It’s easier to read signs, for one, and a lot less stressful. “Just do your best, Rin. All that matters is that we’re safe and sound, after all.” He smiles, because it works to emphasise his thoughts on the matter. 

Then he yawns, abruptly, and is very embarrassed. “Sorry!” Makoto hastily apologises. “I didn’t mean to make it look like I’m planning to go straight to sleep just because you’re driving now!” After all, Rin’s been a wakeful and amusing companion the whole way up until here, and it would only be right to repay the kindness! (and hold whatever cups are necessary).

Rin rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to crash the car in outrage just 'cos you need to take a nap, Makoto. Have some faith in a guy, y'know.” But when he glances at his companion (if asked why Rin had run headlong into this bizarre situation, tugging Makoto along, he’d say he’d been won over every night that week by the broad shoulders, the kindest crinkles around eyes that anybody's ever had, probably, and the way Makoto seemed to carry himself like he’s ready and happy to deal with whatever the world throws at him. Rin had wanted to test that hypothesis, and accidentally lost himself in the friggin’ ocean of good nature that makes up Tachibana Makoto. He’s not even sorry) and sees the slight frown Makoto’s wearing, he figures the pool player teddy bear extraordinaire could probably be just as hard-headed as Rin if he wanted to. 

And Makoto wanted to stay up and keep him company (if that ain’t just the sweetest damn thing).

“Fine, fine,” Rin relents, hint of complaint evident but the smile he flashes afterwards makes it clear that he doesn’t really mind. “We need some music to keep you up,” a smirk, “rock, I’d bet, judging by how loud you were in the bathroom this morning.” Never would’ve thought that the man with the face of what marshmallow fluff tastes like would be so good at bathroom singing, but this world is full of surprises. It’s no less likely than rolling snake eyes, probably, and working at craps Rin has an almost natural love for broad statistics. 

The radio in the car looks pretty straight-froward, with a USB slot neither of them prepared for. He messes around with a couple of knobs, just for the fun of it, before finally pressing the On button.

Easy, easy.

They are 

abruptly! 

assaulted by what sounds like a herd of Satanists _screaming_ their compliments to the Dark Lord by way of Mongolian Throat Singing, at a sound level that could’ve exploded even the manliest of eardrums. Rin winces at the attack of weird, loud noise, but he keeps the car steady because he’s led a colourful life and it’s going to take more than the weird musical tastes of the Netherlands to stop him.

What does affect him is Makoto’s abrupt squeal of terror, and the giant of a man bending over to crouch over his knees, arms around his head, looking like he’s met Death face to face and he just wants it to be over with, quick and painless. Rin’s not sure what in the hell is going on, but the man was obviously terrified. Maybe Makoto had had a bad run in with throat singers or satanists or whatever, but his terror is evident, and Rin isn’t going to stand for a scared friend. 

He tries to turn off the radio, or lower the volume, just do anything to ease it off, but in his panic of trying to console Makoto while driving at night, things just seem to get louder and worse, so he just goes for broke. “Sorry, Mako-chan,” he apologises first, before twisting open the cap of the water bottle on his lap, and upending it into the USB slot.

The Satanists? They didn’t go down without a fight, spitting and hissing while the weird music continued, but with a final angry spitting spark, the radio dies.

Feeling a little shaken himself, Rin pulls over, turns on the hazard lights, and parks. He slumps back into his seat, before looking over at Makoto. “You okay?” he asks, the quietest he’s been since the start of this adventure. 

Makoto doesn’t lift his head up from between his knees, but he nods, taking deep breaths. When he feels Rin’s hand rubbing his back, he calms down even further, until he feels good enough to pull out just a bit to rest his forehead on his knees. “Sorry,” he looks at Rin out the corner of his eye, smiling miserably. “I get scared easily.”

No shit, sweetheart. A past trauma, maybe? Well hell, Rin’s up to his neck with that sortof stuff too, so he doesn’t pry, doesn’t prod, just keeps rubbing. When Makoto calms down further, Rin eases his hand up to massage the man’s nape. “Ghosts don’t exist,” he helpfully provides.

Makoto’s smile falters, before he forces out a little laugh. “Of course, you’re right, it’s just a radio, it’s just, uhm, just that it’s a second-hand car, who knows what might have happened, it really was too cheap-…” Another shuddering breath. “Sorry. I’m being stupid.”

Shit, it sounds like Makoto actually believes that about himself.

Like he’s going to let that stand, hah! Rin scoffs. “Damn right you are. Even if 5 teenagers got killed by an axe murderer in this car, what self-respecting ghost is going to hang around for the chance of possessing a cheap radio in an Audi? Think, Makoto. I wouldn’t settle for anythin’ less than a Ferrari, at least!” He manages to sound like he’s been personally offended. “And you didn’t hear me till the end. Ghosts don’t exist in compact cars, 'specially when there’s a Rin in residence.” He snaps his (awkwardly) sharp teeth in emphasis. It’s rewarded by Makoto’s back shaking with laughter, and it gets better when Makoto sits up with a broad smile, looking more like his usual self. “Sorry. I should’ve known that Rin-chan’s the only predator in this car.

What a load of bull, Rin thinks, you could kill a saint with fondness just by how sweet you are while your breathing evens out, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes off his floppy red hat and plops it on Makoto’s head, grinning winningly at the man’s surprise. “Damn straight. You better not forget it.” It’s like a scene right out of manga! He wonders if Makoto would know what he’s trying to do. He’s no red-haired Shanks, but he certainly is red-haired and that certainly is his hat, so.

Good enough? 

Good enough.

Makoto clutches the hat to his head like he’s facing gale-force winds, but he’s smiling despite a ruined radio so Rin guesses he can go on and look for their treasure now.

-

They pass a sign that probably welcomes them to Amsterdam, but the bright lights of the city aren’t convincing because lights are everywhere, yeah? After picking roads that had the most traffic, though, Rin eventually finds himself driving up a big road, with the dark water of a canal and the weak light of houseboats on one side, and an imposing Heineken factory on his left, and it’s at that point that he breathes out with audible relief. “Holy shit, we’re in Amsterdam!” What a goddamn two-bit miracle.

Makoto’s looking outside in wonder too. “I’ve heard about the factory! We must be right in the middle of the city!” His excitement is like the heat of the sun’s first solid opening show to its worldwide tour in spring, when it’s warm-cool and sweaty clothes are still a distant dream, and Rin almost wants to stab himself somewhere non-fatal for coming up with such a sappy-ass comparison. 

But it is heartfelt, and Rin’s sortof glad to know that whatever disease made him think this was a good idea has gone and spread to Makoto too. “We need to find somewhere to stay for the night, and then we can go out. It’s still pretty early!” What goes on in Amsterdam, really? Canals, sex workers thankfully protected by law, marijuana. Rin wants to feel all of 'em, especially after being on the road for, eh, 12 hours or so. His knees ache with a need for adventure and space.

Makoto nods his agreement, and they have a wild time hurtling down side streets and over narrow bridges over canals, surrounded on all sides by cross-looking Dutch men and women on stately bicycles. Makoto catches sight of a small hostel that thankfully offered parking (neither of them had anticipated the city to be so narrow and small, so full of bicycles and so free of cars), and while the man at the reception looked like he couldn’t really be bothered to deal with 2 tourists, the room is small but clean, and there’s a tourist map on the little desk. 

They rush! Out into the darkness, breath turning into puffs of cloud in the cold January air, and the way Makoto slips an arm around Rin’s waist to draw him close and keep him warm, ah. Screw Paris, man. Amsterdam is where it’s at.

They go and get a bit high eating space brownies from a 'coffee shop’ with a ghastly underwater theme, polystyrene dolphins peering down from the rafters making Makoto laugh until he was wheezing, and at the moment Rin was too busy discovering the meaning of Life in how his body is melting into his bones to ask the man why he took so many pictures of the place. They rush into a convenience store and buy up loads of food to deal with the munchies, accidentally discovering the sweet, crunchy snack known as stroopwaffles. Rin hasn’t got much of a sweet tooth, so mostly it’s Makoto scarfing ‘em down and Rin getting a taste of the crumbs every time they spontaneously decide to stop and make out.

They follow their noses to a late-night store selling kebabs, and lick sauce off their fingers as they wander through the red light district, Makoto’s face redder still as he kept his eyes averted out of respect to the scantily-clad women in the window boxes while Rin does a running commentary on who looks hot and who’s swinging open their glass doors to welcome in Johns. They buy fries that come with mayonnaise, they think it’s weird as fuck, then they think it’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened in their lives because holy shit, creamy mayo and hot fries in the middle of winter is maybe the very definition of happiness. 

Happily lost as all hell, they keep on wandering, decisions made by how pretty they think bridges are. As their stamina depletes, they decide to sit leaning against guard rails, legs hanging over the sluggishly flowing canal below, sharing a mug of bitter hot coffee. Until

Suddenly! 

Makoto gasps, and Rin tries to remember if eating marijuana gave you hallucinations, because to their side, approaching like the spirit animals of the snow on the ground, are a flock of friggin’ swans. 

Rin’s never seen a more majestic appearance, and speaking as a majestic creature himself, that’s really saying something. 

He tugs his mitten off with his teeth, so that he can pull out his camera and take a picture of this, the best and weirdest ever, getting Makoto into frame as the man leans towards the beautiful birds.“Rin, Rin, can you get me in a picture with them?” The quiet awe and the wondrous smile on Makoto’s face, hell, Rin literally can’t say no. 

He just nods, holding his camera-phone steady, wondering where his body had hid all this damn warm affection coursing through his veins, because it’s a surprise even to him how much of it he’s currently feeling for this man he’s known less than 24 hours. Makoto leans closer and closer to the swans, and the birds bridge the gap, evidently planning to slip into the frigid waters and go who knows where (Rivendell, shit, maybe). 

Rin has a bad feeling, abruptly, and later he says it’s because he saw a devilish glint in the eye of the boss-bird that was heading up the pack. He’s about to call out a warning to Makoto, who’s facing him, grinning and posing with his thumb up- 

Shit shit shit, never put your back to the enemy!! 

The boss-man isn’t even polite enough to make a warning sound, before the elegant curve of that feathered neck straightens abruptly, and that bill clamps around Makoto’s thumb, resulting in much screaming and squawking and flailing of arms and wings.

Makoto’s a big man, but swans are heavy, persistent birds, and by the time Rin manages to bodily haul the swan off and fling it into the canal, Makoto’s biting his lower lip in pain, cradling his hand as he looks up at Rin with eyes brimming with tears. “S-sorry, I think it’s broken.” His voice cracks a little, as he digs his teeth more deeply into his bottom lip.

Why are you even apologising? Rin’s speechless, and next he’s breathless too because Makoto’s somehow manages to conjure up a damn sweet reassuring smile from probably where the wild things are. “Thank you, Rin. You were really heroic when you saved me from the swan.” Makoto beams with glossy eyes, and Rin?

Rin’s going _shit shit shit_. If this whole trip has been a gamble, a roll of the dice, right now is when he finds out if it’s going to land double-sixes and call it a midnight. 

He can’t help himself, and judging by the feel of the red hat rightfully on his head and the stupid uncontrollable smile on his lips, he’s already all in. “Uhm, Makoto?” It would be nice to say his quiet voice pierced the quiet night, but the goddamn swans and their goddamn honking-!

Makoto cocks his head to one side, pain momentarily forgotten at the prospect of helping out Rin. “Yeah?” He blinks, once, twice, like he’s trying to forget his broken thumb and his marijuana consumption.

Rin just gets blown away by the fanning of the lashes, and bends down to kiss his forehead, enjoying the gentle flush that crawls up to warm Makoto’s cold cold skin. “We should start dating.” He’s glad to let the words out, feels better (like a burden’s lifted, but also like he’s improved himself as a human being).

Makoto’s squawk of surprise is answered by boss swan’s irritated honk, and holy hell, Rin’s pretty sure Lady Luck’s just slapped him on the butt and said Well Done, because Makoto looks a little lost then a little found and then he’s laughing a little and saying yes, oh, yes!, and Rin’s smiling right the hell back (the pleased grin doesn’t come off his face even when he’s helping Makoto fill in the form at the Emergency Ward).

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Written like a hundred (2) years ago with the challenge of: 
> 
> 12 hour road trip with the radio mysteriously broken, not enough cup holders and a broken thumb
> 
> Incredible, incredible, AND HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE. There's another prompted fic that was supposed to be posted for New Year's (my favourite time of year I get so pumped up it's shocking) but I still haven't figured out how to end it. If you guys have a weirdly specific prompt w Makoto in mind, shout out @ ya girl @ [andthensomelion](http://andthensomelion.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Anyways!!!
> 
> Be great in 2016 everyone!


End file.
